“I can’t believe it” I uttered to myself when I heard the awful news.

I met Billiee in 2011. Billiee Pendleton-Parker (BP-P as she is affectionally known), The Assistant Director of the President’s Scholarship Program at Georgia Tech, was a surrogate mom to my two kids during their college years. In the pressure cooker that GT can oftentimes be, Billiee was the pressure relief valve. She was the irreplaceable softer side of Georgia Tech.

She was wise, smart, kind, and available. Did you fail a test? Forget an assignment? Fall up the stairs in a crowded lecture hall? Did a significant other dump you? Did a professor treat you unfairly? Was your roommate a jerk? In every type and time of need, she was there to offer a shoulder to cry on and sage words of advice. “You can do ANYthing as long as you know it’s temporary” she would say.  Billiee’s heart was oversized and made of pure white and old gold. She had a sixth sense that alerted her to anyone who needed extra love and attention.

Billiee was a soft spoken southerner who also had a keen sense of humor. She loved “Bling” - sparkles, glitter, bold colors, confetti, decorations and glitz. She adorned herself and her office for every single holiday. She celebrated them all; in fact Billiee found that every single day was a cause for celebration.   

“Strive for significance not success” she frequently advised. And to her, the best way to be significant was through a life of service. As an unwavering advocate of volunteerism and community service she annually encouraged students to make MLK Day a “Day ON not a day off”. Savannah became her protégé  and with Billiee’s guidance she organized community service events for MLK Day, Hands On Atlanta weekend each fall, and even became President of Alternative Service Breaks.

In 2013 following an absence due to health issues, Billiee returned to campus. She was no longer able to drive herself, but she was not deterred. A detailed “Driving Miss Billiee” spreadsheet was created and an army of devoted students took turns getting her to and from campus each day. As time went on her mobility continued to erode and she became unable to step up into my Jake’s SUV.  Still determined to continue service to her beloved “Techies” though, she instructed Jake to drive to the back of The Bill Moore Student Success Center where he could pull up very close to the steps and she could more easily get into or out of his car.

November 1, 2014 was homecoming day on campus and it was bitterly cold and windy! I stood shivering as the Wreck Parade slowly passed - The Mr. and Ms. GT Candidates in classic convertibles followed by the contraptions. I was freezing and I couldn’t wait to get out of there. As the parade concluded I sprinted toward my parked car, but as I passed the corner of Ferst and Fowler Streets I saw Billiee. Perched atop a narrow raised platform surrounded on all sides by adoring students all 40 years her junior, she was serving as the parade’s Grand Marshal. Billiee would have been 62 years old at that time and was suffering serious health complications, yet there she was - smiling ear to ear, bundled from head to toe in gold, dutifully judging the parade entrants in wind chills near zero! There was simply no way that she was gonna decline an invitation to serve GT and be among her beloved “Techies”.

In 2016 I was a part of a group that helped Billiee relocate from her condo in what she called “Fake Decatur” to a smaller place without stairs. That is when I discovered a bedroom in her home that contained a treasure trove of GT paraphernalia so vast that it would have made the GT bookstore envious - yellow jacket earrings, bracelets, pins, stationary, hats, gloves, necklaces, spirit wear, flags, awards, photographs and more. So.Much.More. Further evidence of her love and devotion for all things Georgia Tech.

Getting Billiee’s belongings packed, moved and the condo sold was a herculean task and Billiee became the recipient of the selfless generosity and volunteerism she had encouraged for years. Countless current and former students pitched in to help; They packed, moved, painted and even tackled some plumbing and electrical tasks. Former students who lived far away even contacted me to ask how they could contribute.

Over the past five years BP-P and I have spent a good amount of time together. When I visited  we would sit and talk over pimento cheese, crackers and those soft frosted cookies from the grocery store deli. She told me many stories about growing up in North Carolina, her family and of the beautiful Blue Ridge Mountains. I frequently called her “William”; a reference to the fact that she was named (Billiee Geraldine) after her father, William Gerald Pendleton. But nothing ever brought a sparkle to her eyes as did the stories she told of her years at Georgia Tech. She was unofficial Georgia Tech royalty and in that capacity she met many famous people and even participated in the ceremonial parts of 1996 Summer Olympics. But more important to her was the lives of the students she loved. There was a place on her wall for a photo of every single one of them, and a place in her heart for every single one as well. It is perfectly fitting that she has recently been selected to receive an honorary degree from Georgia Tech.

Billiee faced many struggles, but always kept a positive attitude and kept her focus on others. She always asked about me and my family and she never missed an opportunity to teach me. “Live so that, when you’re gone, people will remember (for all the good and right reasons) that you were here.” She surely lived by her own advice and wisdom!

Billiee ended all of our visits with a soft, sincere, “I love you, Audrey” and I know that she did.

I am grateful that our earthly paths ran parallel for the past ten years. Like countless others, I am immeasurably richer for my association with BP-P

Tonight I quietly consider the loss of my friend and as I do, the world seems lonely and colder. I wonder who will be there to take the rough edges off these difficult days? Who will encourage us to find the goodness in others? Who will offer understanding and compassion where it may be undeserved? Then I realize that it is us! We are Billiee’s Living Legacy! We owe it to her to serve our fellow man, to be peacemakers and to love one another in spite of our differences - all things she taught us through her constant example.

I realize now hat it’s not so much that ‘I can’t believe’ she will no longer be a part of my daily life, so much as it is that ‘I don’t want to believe it.”

Thank you for everything and I love you too, William <3

She twirled around like a ballerina then bowed in a slow, exaggerated curtsy. Savannah’s grand entrance was dramatic. Silently, she stood awaiting my approval of her wardrobe selection for the night’s momentous occasion — a photo shoot that would preserve a special memory for eternity.

Just twenty-four hours earlier, through tears of joy, Savannah had uttered an emotional “yes” to a surprise proposal proffered by her very own Prince Charming. A few hours later, we were headed to downtown Atlanta for a formal portrait session to commemorate Savannah and Tommy’s engagement. 

She dressed in a ruby red ball gown that seemed to glow when it fell upon her ivory skin. Heavy satin fabric draped elegantly to the floor, spaghetti straps criss crossed in the back, and when the long red ribbon was laced up through the twenty-four satin loops, the bodice fit like a glove. I stood speechless. My mind drifted back in time to the many milestones I had shared with my daughter, and the many dresses she had worn to mark occasions. 

She made her original grand entrance in late August of 1993. I watched as a nurse plopped her down on the delivery room scales — a 7-pound-13 ounce angel who was the answer to three years of hopeful prayers. Savannah didn’t cry or fuss. Instead, her big blue eyes looked curiously around the room, as if she was trying to understand what all the fuss was about and perhaps even evaluating the competency of the medical staff. The following morning, we made the trip from the hospital in Creve Coeur, Missouri to our home in O’Fallon, Illinois. For her inaugural car ride, Savannah wore a pale pink smocked gown embellished with embroidered flowers, and a matching pink diaper cover — a gift from my Uncle Edwin and Aunt Monteen. The ensemble was of minor importance to me. What was most important was that the precious baby we had prayed for was finally home. 

Four months later, we stood beside a river inside Our Lady of The Woods Church in Chicago. Bill and his parents looked on, and I held tightly to my little angel. She was not upset nor startled by the three splashes of water as the priest baptized her in the name of the Father, the Son, and The Holy Spirit. She seemed to understand and appreciate the sanctity of the occasion. The altar was adorned with twelve elegant, snow covered Christmas trees, and Savannah was adorned in an elegant white heirloom christening gown with a matching bonnet. She looked like an angel, but what was most important was that she was washed in the blood and welcomed into a community of believers who promised to love and guide her throughout her life.

Three more years passed, and I found myself struggling to keep pace with my vivacious little girl as she sprinted eagerly toward Santa’s Castle at the center of Northpointe Mall. Joyfully, she ran to the mall Santa, gripping a rolled-up “list” in her tiny hand. Savannah had chosen to wear a festive cotton dress decorated with Christmas Teddy Bears, lace pantaloons, ivory tights and black patent leather shoes. She was neither afraid nor shy. She demonstrated bravery and grace — attributes she still carries with her every day. I remember watching her converse with St. Nick himself — even putting in a good word for her little brother who was not feeling quite so social. 

The memories continued to play in my mind like a favorite movie.

Six-year-old Savannah and five-year-old Jake skipped up the steps of Pinelake Country Day School in Mississippi for “picture day.” My precious baby girl posed in her blue and white gingham dress with wide-lace trim on the bottom, lace-trimmed socks, white leather shoes, and a huge matching bow atop her head. She was thrilled that she and Jake could be in the photo together, and he had generously (and surprisingly) agreed to wear his denim overalls with a matching blue gingham shirt and cap to match his big sister. When I picked them up from school later that day however, I immediately knew that something was wrong — there was dirt on her dress and knees, bark mulch in her shoes and the big hair bow was askew. Some kid on the playground had been mean to her little brother, and even though she was wearing her “pretty” dress, she had intervened. Generally a pacifist, Savannah’s actions were surely warranted. The bully’s actions must have been particularly egregious, and her sisterly justice came swiftly and decisively. Savannah’s compass points to true north — always has. 

Time marched on, and by the time she was in middle school, we lived in Georgia. Halloween approached and she and her best friend Kris debated the appropriate role of thirteen year olds on Halloween. They knew they were technically too old to trick or treat, but the “children” inside weren’t ready to surrender their youth. As they teetered precariously on the threshold between childhood and adulthood, they devised a compromise. Kris dressed as Austin Powers. Savannah dressed as a goddess in a white toga with gold Roman sandals and a golden wreath encircling her head. They did not trick or treat, but they roamed carefree through the neighborhood, laughing, running and enjoying those last unburdened days of their youth.

As a gifted athlete Savannah spent much of her high school years dressed in a soccer uniform — cleats, shin guards and either the royal blue NASA uniform or the purple jersey of The Cartersville High School Hurricanes. Tough as nails as a striker, she out ran, out maneuvered and even out pushed her opponents. Soccer is a contact sport. Onlookers may have been surprised to learn Savannah had a softer side though — her “girly girl alter ego.” On five occasions, she relinquished her soccer uniform and donned formal prom dresses — my favorite being the blue mermaid gown she wore to her first prom. The dress had a rhinestone bodice, thin spaghetti straps and blue tiered crepe ruffles cascading down to the floor. She loved the gown and was a sight to behold, but that evening, she learned that stepping up high into a prom bus while wearing a form-fitting mermaid dress was a near impossibility. But true to her nature, Savannah laughed generously at herself as a pair of handsome upperclassmen had to lift her on and off the bus.

The highlight reel of Savannah’s life rolls on. At seventeen, I see her dressed in white cap and gown — a heavy Valedictorian medal hanging by a purple and gold ribbon around her neck. Bravely, with the poise of an experienced public speaker, she addressed a stadium full of onlookers as her father and I dabbed away proud tears. She encouraged her peers and all attendees to make their lives a long gift to their fellow man through volunteerism and community service. 

I blinked, and before I knew it, I stood beside her on historic Grant Field at Bobby Dodd Stadium in November of 2014 — the coldest, windiest November ever. She bundled herself in a winter white wool coat, boots, tights and a gold wool scarf. Notwithstanding the extreme cold, she stood on the field, honored to be recognized by her classmates as a Ms. Georgia Tech Finalist, an honor bestowed upon her from her classmates, who found her to be a worthy representative of Georgia Tech. 

After graduation, she traded her casual college attire for a business suit and pumps. As a savvy businesswoman, she is just getting started. So much lies ahead of her.

I am jolted back to the present watching her twirl in the full-skirted cranberry dress. “We gotta get downtown!” I said, my voice a bit choked up from visiting the memories in the far corners of my mind’s eye.

We loaded up, navigated through the usual crazy traffic, parked and headed up the elevator to the helipad above Ventanas. The photo I had planned was to be of the newly engaged couple dancing atop a skyscraper at blue hour — a thousand city lights twinkling behind them, but ahh the best laid plans... We set up and were ready to shoot by 8:15 p.m. The sun hit the horizon at 8:46, and so the “blue hour”  arrived around 9 p.m. Even though the sun was glaring, my good friend and photographer, Randy, suggested we go ahead and begin shooting, and I am thankful for that wise counsel. Determined to get some unstaged, unscripted photos capturing the couple’s joy and happiness, we asked Savannah and Tommy to pretend we were not there. “Dance, talk, tell secrets and enjoy the moment,” we urged. As they danced, Randy and I clicked shot after shot. When the city lights began to come on, I pulled out my Photix strobe, 48” modifier and mounted them on a light stand. At that exact moment, a fierce wind kicked up from nowhere. Randy struggled to hold on to the light stand, and I managed to get exactly three clicks off before we had to abort the operation — strong winds and soft boxes don’t mix. I worried one of us might actually be blown off the helipad. 

My plans were almost totally ruined, but luckily, I had followed Randy’s advice and taken a series of sunset images. As we packed up our gear, the wind whipped and howled, blowing wildly at Savannah’s hair and dress. The situation was discouraging, but always the optimist, she responded with her hardy, signature belly laugh. We sprinted for the stairs and made it safely inside. 

And now, as I reminisce about the life and experiences of my beautiful little girl, I remember the dresses she wore in each stage of her life — not that the dresses and attire have any real significance. They don’t. They are mere touchstones of something greater. The dresses, the shoes, the costumes and the uniforms — they were decorations wrapped around the most glorious soul I have ever known. The light inside my little Savannah shines more brightly than the most ornate or fancy clothes she has ever, or will ever, own. 

So this one formal engagement photo of Savannah and Tommy dancing on a skyscraper rooftop in Atlanta is my favorite photo of 2020. It represents all things I love about my precious Savannah — her patience, her kindness, her curiosity, her poise, and her fiercely protective nature of those she loves. It reminds me that Savannah loves big, and generously. She shows compassion and understanding to all around her. She is always willing to help anyone in need, and she ends every phone call to family with a sincere, “I love you.”

I’m not sure how it happened — I turned around one day and my little girl was grown, twirling around in a crimson dress and about to announce her engagement to the world. Maybe that’s why the photo means so much to me this year; because it not only captures a mere moment in time, but somehow, it also captured a lifetime of love and my daughter’s sparkling personality and soul. 

Rhododendron petals floated gently to earth on the breeze creating a blanket of white on the forest floor. The smell of evergreen hung in the morning air. Every leaf, flower and twig sparkled with dew as the first rays of morning light filtered through the treetops. The scene was magical, yet I was paralyzed with fear. I stood on the steep ledge, clinging tightly to a tree and hoping my strength would last.

As I clung to the huge maple, my son Jake set ropes for our descent down the second of three steep drops. He then persuaded me to release the tree and trust his knot tying abilities. My son Jake, an avid outdoorsman, is a certified wilderness first responder and is the person I would most want with me in this frightening situation.

Our destination was English Falls - A hidden jewel in North Carolina’s Pisgah National Forest. It’s less than a mile from the Blue Ridge Parkway, yet the difficulty in getting there deters most photographers and adds to its mystique and allure. There is no trail and to find it, one must decipher vague clues and descend over 350 feet of steep, muddy terrain.

Not wanting sunlight to interfere with my planned long exposure shot, our slow cautious descent began before sunrise. At 7:30am we arrived and were rewarded by a magnificent scene. The roar of water crashing down the jagged rockface was deafening. The wind created by the waterfall’s 50’ drop blew wildly through the moss-covered canyon. The vision was even more glorious than we could have imagined.

I photographed the scene from every vantage point I could safely access and as I did Jake sat patiently nearby reading “The Mountains of California” by John Muir. After about an hour, we left the enchantment behind, and cautiously retraced our path back up the rockface, arriving at the car by 10:30am. Exhilarated by our adventure and thankful to have witnessed something rarely seen, we headed south on the BRP - top off the jeep and Kanye loudly rapping about how much he loved his “Mommy”.

Our 24-hour round trip excursion was unforgettable. My son Jake is one of the most fascinating and entertaining people I have ever known. His head is full of interesting trivia and his heart is full of pure goodness. He challenges everyone around him to think outside the box and he inspires everyone around him to live a full and meaningful life. Time spent with Jake is guaranteed to deliver nonstop laughter, happiness and introspection.

Just three days later I again sat in my jeep but this time however I was not so jubilant.  Through the dirty windshield and my misty eyes, I watched my baby boy walk into the airport, one-way ticket to California in hand – a bittersweet moment.  I am thankful however, that in the height of his very busy time of packing and preparing to move cross country, that he prioritized one last east coast adventure with me…and I know that many exhilarating adventures await us on the west coast!

So…my photo of English Falls…..it is imperfect. The wind at the base of the falls is hurricane force and some of my foreground foliage is blurry. It was impossible to keep the water droplets off of my lens. But the experience of getting there and witnessing such a magical place with my son Jake was perfect. And if I take another 10 million photos in my lifetime none will be more special to me that this one of English Falls.